


The Worst Part of Falling

by callay



Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: Danger Boner, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, The Parachute Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: Vincent wants to push his hand up into Leo’s sweaty hair, wants to drag their mouths together. He wants one more distraction, one last moment just for them before this whole thing reaches its inevitable end.





	The Worst Part of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place immediately after [the parachute scene](https://youtu.be/3IyalKYMZFw?t=2430) and contains very vague spoilers for the end of the game.
> 
> For Rose - thanks for always reading my stuff!

Leo’s still complaining by the time they reach the ground, still clinging to Vincent. Vincent manages a few steps on solid ground, half-running, but Leo’s weight pulls him off balance and they go down. Momentum rolls the two of them over and over in the dirt, the parachute cords wrapping around them as the parachute collapses behind them.

They come to a stop with Leo on top. He’s shaking, still clinging desperately to Vincent, his breath coming short and wet against Vincent’s neck. After a moment he mutters, his voice hoarse from yelling, “God motherfucking dammit, Vincent.”

“I said I got you,” says Vincent calmly, working his arms free from the tangled cords.

“Yeah, you got me into this in the first place!” says Leo. He tries to sit up, but the parachute cords are wrapped too tightly around them for him to move. He takes a sharp, panicked breath, struggling against the cords. “Argh, shit –”

“Hang on,” Vincent tells him. He wraps an arm around Leo, and with a grunt rolls them over, back towards the parachute, unwrapping some of the cords. Now he’s on top. Leo’s arms and legs are still wrapped around him, and he can feel Leo’s chest still heaving under his, and, lower, Leo’s – oh.

There’s enough leeway now for him to sit up and look Leo in the face. Leo stares back at him, wide-eyed, an uncharacteristic blush coloring his cheeks.

Vincent raises his eyebrows. “That, uh, that an extra pistol you got there or are you just –”

“Damn it, I almost died!” snaps Leo. “I’d be happy to see anyone who’s not the grim fucking reaper at this point, okay?”

“Okay, whatever you say,” says Vincent, rolling them over again, trying to ignore the way Leo’s breath pushes out of him, the feeling of Leo’s body against his.

He gets it, he does – the dizzying rush of adrenaline lighting up your body like a Christmas tree, sweat and the pound of your heart and the buzz in your veins. Gets it a little too well, if Leo’s going to keep squirming like that, bucking against the tangled cords, his breath short and desperate.

“Calm down,” Vincent says, and then, because it worked before, “I got you,” his hand finding the back of Leo’s neck, holding him still.

Leo collapses, the weight of him heavy on top of Vincent, his face against Vincent’s neck. “Shit,” he mumbles. “What are we doing?”

The question seems to encompass everything, all the sacrifices and near misses, enough adventure in a few days to last a lifetime. It encompasses this, too, the heat between their bodies, Leo’s cock hard and unmistakable against Vincent’s stomach, the eager response of Vincent’s.

Vincent wants to push his hand up into Leo’s sweaty hair, wants to drag their mouths together. He wants one more distraction, one last moment just for them before this whole thing reaches its inevitable end.

He pushes the thought away. “We’re getting Harvey,” he says instead, voice sharp, rolling them over one more time. Finally they’re free enough that he can push up to his feet, unclipping the parachute and letting the straps fall beside Leo. “Get up, Leo, you’re not a kid anymore.”

“Fuck you,” says Leo, getting to his feet, kicking the parachute cords away from him. He’s still breathing hard, glaring at Vincent.

And then his gaze slips down, to where Vincent’s cock must be obvious in his pants, and he stops, his breath catching.

“Don’t tell me you were into that,” says Leo slowly.

“You started it,” growls Vincent.

“I’m the one who almost died!”

“Yeah, I’m the one who almost lost you.”

The words come out before Vincent can think them through. He presses his lips tight together in their wake.

There’s a pause. Leo frowns at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It means the closer they get to ending this, the more urgently Vincent wants Leo, with a deep, breathless want that gets harder and harder to shut down. Every time they almost get caught, every time they almost _die_ , the tension in his stomach ratchets tighter.

All of this could go off the rails at any moment, like they’re on a rickety train barreling down crooked tracks. And Vincent knows there’s a cliff waiting at the end, but he’s white-knuckled at the controls anyway, trying to keep it on them on the tracks for one moment longer.

He turns away. Leo surges after him, grabs his arm. “Hey.”

Vincent whirls and grabs Leo’s shirt, dragging him close, and he can feel Leo’s body stiffen. They’re only a breath away now, as close as they were when they were falling.

“We’re out of time,” he says. “That’s what that means, okay? We’re probably going to die up there, or if we don’t, then we’ll kill Harvey and get the diamond and then this’ll be over.”

Leo licks his lips nervously. “So you’re saying you want to get your rocks off in case we die.”

Heat rushes through Vincent. “No, Leo, I’m saying we’re out of time.” He shoves Leo away and turns toward the jungle, his heart pounding. “Come on.”

After a moment, Leo follows. “Screw that,” he says, grabbing Vincent.

Vincent turns. “What?”

Leo glares at him. “That fucking suicide mission you put us on was supposed to save us time, right? So.”

The heat in Leo’s eyes makes Vincent’s stomach flip, makes the want coiled inside him rise up and squeeze at his lungs, grasp at his throat. He has to fight to keep his voice even. “So, what?”

“Don’t play dumb, dumbass,” says Leo, grabbing Vincent’s shirt with both hands, and before Vincent can respond, Leo kisses him.

It’s a brief, hard kiss like a punch. Vincent’s heart stops for the duration of it and then it’s over. Leo pulls back, his expression wary, his eyes scanning Vincent’s face.

And Leo’s right, thinks Vincent. If this is going to happen, now is their only chance. And judging by the need gripping Vincent’s heart, pumping electric through his veins, this is definitely going to happen.

Vincent seizes Leo and pushes him back. Leo grabs Vincent’s arms, his teeth gritted for a fight, but by then they’ve already stumbled back enough that Leo runs into a tree. Vincent presses himself tight against Leo, and the contact makes them both shudder, a long shiver that rolls up from their toes, that presses their bodies together, that pushes the air from their lungs.

“You’re the dumbass,” growls Vincent, and kisses him.

Leo leans in to meet him, and their mouths meet wet and open. Immediately it’s a fight of a kiss, fierce and messy. They’re both breathing hard, their chests pressing tight together with each gasped breath, their mouths breaking apart and then finding each other. It feels good, like everything they do together – like something Vincent shouldn’t be enjoying this much, but he can’t help it.

There’s a nervous energy to Leo normally, something excitable, distractible. Now that energy feels focused, compressed into something tight and jittery under his skin. He’s shuddering under Vincent, his hands running over Vincent’s body, pushing up his sides, along his back, pulling him in by the hips. Vincent can taste the energy on his tongue, sharp and sweet.

Part of Vincent wants to remember this, to memorize the slick heat of Leo’s mouth, the urgent press of Leo’s body. He wants to be able to revisit it later, after everything is done. But most of him just wants to drown in it instead, to forget the past and the future and let desire drag him under.

Leo’s hard as ever against Vincent’s hip, his cock straining against his jeans. The feeling of it is electric, makes Vincent’s cock jump in his pants. Vincent, breathing hard, pushes his thigh between Leo’s and grinds against him, and Leo breaks the kiss and lets his head fall back against the tree. “ _Fuck_ , Vincent.”

There’s a note of disbelief in Leo’s voice, and Vincent feels it too. This thing between them is unexpected and powerful. It’s too much to be explored in a few days, too intense to be expressed in a few stolen moments in a jungle.

But that’s all they have.

Vincent curls his hand into Leo’s hair and pulls him into a kiss, licking into his mouth until Leo groans, his hips hitching up against Vincent’s. Leo’s hands find their way under Vincent’s shirt, sliding warm up Vincent’s back until he shudders and breaks the kiss.

If there ever was a point where they could have turned back, it’s far gone now. “Hang on,” he grits out. He pulls back enough to get his hands between them, to tug open his pants, shove his underwear down just enough to pull out his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” groans Leo, his eyes pinned greedily on Vincent, fumbling for his own fly. “Fuck –”

“Real creative vocabulary you got there,” pants Vincent, squeezing his cock like that can slow the need that burns through him.

“Fuck you,” says Leo, but his voice catches as he pulls out his cock. By then Vincent’s already surging forward, pressing Leo up against the tree again, pushing them forcefully together.

This time it’s Vincent who curses, because it feels too good, the hot press of Leo’s cock against his, the breathtaking slide of them together. The air around them is dense and hot, but it’s hotter still between their bodies, the tight, shifting space, the intimate friction as they grind together.

Vincent pushes his hand between them, grabbing both of their cocks and squeezing. That’s even better. They both gasp at the feeling, both hoarse now, both desperate. Vincent looks down and heat twists in his stomach at the sight of them together, Leo’s cock flushed dark, nudging against his. “God, Leo –”

Leo huffs out a low, desperate breath. “Here, lemme –”

He reaches down and curls his hand around them too. Vincent shudders at the additional pressure around his cock, the warm friction of Leo’s hand where it overlaps his. Now they’re moving in unison, their hands sliding together, their rhythm building on each other, tighter, faster. Each stroke sends pleasure up through Vincent like wave after wave, fast enough that each hits before the previous one dissipates.

Vincent’s not going to last long. Already his breath is coming fast and uneven and there’s tension building low in his stomach. He braces his free hand next to Leo’s head and rocks his hips into their grip, and Leo pushes up to meet him, groaning.

“You close?” grits out Vincent.

“Fuck, yeah,” pants Leo. “You?”

“Yeah,” says Vincent roughly. He leans in until their foreheads meet and then Leo turns his face up and they kiss, helpless and messy, half a kiss and half just them breathing together as their bodies move in sync.

Vincent can tell when it’s happening, can feel Leo’s body going tense, even before Leo gasps, “Vincent, _Vincent_ –”

“Yeah,” he grits out, because he’s there too, the edge rushing up to meet him. He tumbles over it and he’s falling, pleasure sweeping white-hot through his body, groaning into Leo’s mouth as Leo gasps and shudders under him.

Afterwards, they’re still for a moment, breathing hard.

Then Leo chuckles. “Damn, we’re gross.” He disentangles his hand from Vincent’s, making a face, and goes to wipe it on Vincent’s shirt.

Vincent intercepts him, grabbing his wrist. For a moment he just holds it and looks at Leo, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Leo’s cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, and there’s something bright and open in his eyes. Vincent’s heart lurches against his ribs.

Maybe he should tell Leo who he is. Maybe this is the moment where they can switch tracks, where they can find a different future than the one waiting for them back stateside.

As soon as he thinks it, he knows it’s bullshit. There is no other future. Vincent is a liar and Leo is a criminal, and nothing can change that, not even the pleasure that’s still echoing through him, the taste of Leo still lingering on his lips.

He pulls sharply away from Leo and turns away. His bag is on the ground and there’s probably some tissues in there, a first aid kit or something. He needs to clean up. They need to go.

“Don’t be like that,” says Leo from behind him. His tone is light, but Vincent can hear the hurt under it.

Vincent looks back. “Stop being a baby. We have to go.”

“Fine, okay. You hate me, I get it.”

Vincent sighs. “No, I don’t.”

And he’s glad to see Leo smile at that, and gesture at the mess they’ve made of themselves. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

“Yeah,” says Vincent, smiling back, even through the painful pound of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [calllay](https://calllay.tumblr.com/post/174287786569/the-worst-part-of-falling-callay-a-way-out) on Tumblr!


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